Page 65 of Between the Pipes

I’m stupidly grateful. Part of me wants to grab his face and ravish him, while the larger part worries about the likelihood of me tasting like stale antibiotics. Probably best to wait. Anthony winks, slides his hands up my thighs and leans forward to press another, more lingering kiss to my cheek. There is a delicious scratch of stubble on my skin, waking up nerve endings that have stayed mostly dormant during my convalescence.

We do end up taking a walk outside, later that morning. It’s a quick jaunt, with me layered up in as many long-sleeved winter articles that Anthony can find in my closet, and still feeling a little cold. The winter air in South Carolina is crisp, while still fairly mild by most standards, but my lungs struggle all the same. Each inhale sends tiny icicles of pain shooting into my chest, but it feels good to finally be out of the house so I persist. We don’t see anyone I know, and the campus is relatively quiet but for a few people who seem to be too busy to pay us any mind. I don’t focus on anything but breathing, watching where I’m walking, and the brush of Anthony’s arm against mine as we stroll side by side.

I feel better, once we get back to the house, despite being wearied from the sudden physical activity and the strain of trying to breathe properly. It felt good to get some fresh air and get out of this musty, stale sick house. We eat yet another bowl of soup, which uses up the last of what Corwin left for me, and I take a very hot, very long shower. By the early afternoon, I’m feeling like, if not a full man, then at least half of one. Tugging on Anthony’s hoodie, which made its way back to me after the wash, I find him waiting for me in my bedroom. He smiles, looking me up and down.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” Coughing, I join him on the bed and reach for a bottle of water. I also feel like I could go back to bed and sleep for a week; I’m not sure how long I’ll manage to stay awake for his game tonight.

“I’ve got to get going. I’ll have to stop at home before heading to the rink, since I don’t have a suit here.”

He’s turning his phone over in his hand, flipping it anxiously. It couldn’t be more apparent that he doesn’t want to leave me alone any earlier than he has to. I don’t particularly want him to go, either, but I bite back the words. Telling him that won’t help anything.

“Okay. I’m just going to listen to the broadcast and then go to sleep.” He glances at me, biting his lip. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. I wrote down Sam and Nigel’s phone numbers though, just in case.” He points to a corner of my hospital discharge paperwork where two names and numbers have been added in a fluid, artistic script. “You can call them if you need something, since I won’t be able to check my phone during the game.”

“I’ll be alright, really, I will.”

“I know…but just in case.” He taps a finger on the phone numbers. “They’re great guys. Don’t hesitate to call them for anything, okay?”

“Okay.” I won’t need to, so it’s an easy promise to make. He looks mollified when he stands up and turns to me. I stand as well and pull him toward me with a hand on his waist; he hugs me, hard, arms banded around me and face pressed into my neck.

“I’ll come back here after the game.”

There is a slightly upturned lilt to the end of that sentence, like it’s halfway between a statement and a question. “Yes, please come back here after the game.”

Sighing, he hugs me closer for another second before letting go. He points to the nightstand. “Everything you need is right there. I’ll see you later.”

Amused, I sit back down on the bed and watch him leave. When I hear the door close softly behind him and the quiet rumble of the car engine, I pull back the sheets and settle into bed once more. It’s not half as comfortable as it was when Anthony was here.

???

The start of the spring semester brings a cold front and another wave of illness rolling over the South Carolina University campus. Our first game of the New Year looms, and I’m down four players due to strep throat. Fortunately, I seem to be avoiding this particular sickness; though this might have more to do with the copious amount of antibiotics that were pumped into my system in December, and not my overall health. Either way, I’ve had enough of being sick that I can stand for a good long while. Texting my second line defenseman back, I tell him to miss practice for today and to head over to StudentHealth for a checkup. Might be nothing, but might also be something he could spread around the locker room—better safe than sorry.

There is also a text message from Anthony waiting for a response. I pause over this one, unsure of myself. He has a rare weekend off—a full three days in a row—and wondered if I might be interested in spending the time at his house with him. After those days we spent locked in my house, we’d both emerged and gone back to work with the understanding that we were together. Partners. Anthony’s pretty face had blazed a rapid and rather alarming trail through the SCU student’s social media, and there wasn’t a single person on campus who didn’t now know of my connection to him. There had been less fallout than I’d been expecting, which was both a relief and an embarrassment. It seems I’d been worried over nothing.

Now, after having spent the last nine days on an extensive road trip, Anthony had returned and was blessed with three days off. Days which he wants to spend with me, evidently. It’ll be the first time we’ve ever had that amount of uninterrupted time together, where one of us isn’t indisposed with pneumonia. I feel distinctly worried about it, but also unquestionably excited by the prospect. I wonder if I can convince him to spend the entire time unclothed.

Tapping out an affirmative to him, I put my phone down and get back to the task of reworking the lines. I’ve barely gotten started when there is a heavy rap on my door, and I look up to see Carter Morgan standing there. He’s wearing his usual SCU athletic gear, but has his backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s just come from class. I wave him in.

“Carter. What can I do for you?”

He drops his backpack to the floor with an audible thump and flops into the chair in front of my desk. His postureis terrible, but I don’t comment on it. God knows he’d only continue to do it to spite me.

“Hey, Coach.”

I wait, but this seems to be the extent of the words I’m getting. Knowing that needling him will get me nowhere, I turn back to my team roster. Less than five minutes of silence pass before he speaks again.

“That’s pretty cool, about Tony.”

I look up at him. His dark blue eyes are intent on mine, and his face isn’t scrunched into its usual scowl. Setting my pen down, I lean back in my chair. “What part?”

Anthony has been in the news quite a bit, recently. The video and the subsequent media storm notwithstanding, he’s also been having a remarkably good season and has claimed three shutout victories recently. Carter looks at me steadily; I’m fairly certain I already know which part of Anthony’s recent attention he thinks ispretty cool.

“That you guys are dating, or whatever.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

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